Buonanotte Signor Maiale
by TharaCorleone
Summary: A dinner between two friends soon reveals itself to be the backdrop of revenge, with the poser being someone Tino never thought would bring themselves to do it. Reader discretion is advised.


For some strange, unfathomable reason, Jimmy was adamant in preparing my dinner tonight.

And for an even more strange, unfathomable reason, I let him.

Jimmy's possibly the least squeamish guy in our clan. Well, apart from me, that is. I've seen him not blink an eyelid at things that would make _Griezzo_ cringe like a little, weakling hippy. At least he doesn't laugh at the idea of our enemies losing their lives like Don does; it's this habit that makes people think he must be _my_ papa, until I remind them my papa's actually dead.

As the blood drenches his hands, Jimmy still doesn't whine or flinch; the very action giving him so little emotional bother that he even tears off a little flesh and sticks it in his mouth. He shudders a little, but upon turning to face me he has a rather sly smile as he tries to swallow it down.

"You didn't see that," he says, pointing the finger but still smiling all the same.

I remove my shades, the grin on my face sealing the deal as I replace them just a few seconds later. A lot of people often consider them just an accessory or a handy way to hide my oddly pink eyes, but I actually need my shades to see. And I don't just mean in the medical sense; all the years of abuse and taunts because of my condition meant seeing the world through rose-tinted shades was the only way to cope at times.

Besides, we're in the basement. It's not like there's any windows to allow the whole world to see what's going on. Ok, I lie, there's one, but it leads to one of the side-alleys beside Borgia's Palace, so the only witnesses will be the rats. Or Ficcanaso, if he's in one of his daring moods, but that midget knows what I'd do to him if I ever found out he'd been spying on yours truly.

Speaking of fellow clan members, there's something about Jimmy's face that seems warmly familiar, as if I've known him for much longer than just a few months. He certainly feels a lot more comfortable around us too, singing the most random Italian in this virtually perfect accent- just a few months ago, Jimmy had no grasp of the little bit of heritage he had. Ok, I know he's just playing around with that random singing, but I still feel the need to point it out.

"Someone's been working on their accent."

"But of course," he says, focusing his attention on the flesh but still managing to answer me without any accidents.

"No, but seriously. That was almost like Fabio's accent," I say, unable to keep myself from chuckling a little, much to Jimmy's annoyance. "Are you sure you're not trying to be like him? Because I wouldn't blame you if you are. You _have_ been spending an awful lot of time with him lately. You'll get Chopstick Fag jealous!"

"I d-doubt that, T-Tino. A-Aniki's actually a p-pretty cool guy," Jimmy says, stuttering a little. Usually, if one of the guys stutters like that, 99% of the time it's because he has a bit of a thing for that person. Enzo does it with Jessie, Ace does it with Angelina, Oscar does it with Bella. Heh, Edd _used_ to do it with Sharon, until their divorce, and now that honour goes to Milovan. But Jimmy only tends to do it with Davina, so I'm beginning to get a little suspicious about the whole situation.

"Though I k-know Aniki isn't cool w-with you, Tino, if...ahem..._you know what_ h-has anything to d-do w-with it."

"I see no reason why that has anything to do with _you_," I snarl, trying to turn on the fear; usually a couple of seconds is enough to ward off the questioning, but Jimmy's a persistent bastardo.

"Just looking out for fellow clan mates," He says, his attention still fixed on the final preparations. "Is that really so wrong?"

Realising my scare tactics aren't about to work anytime soon, I try and make my retorts sound as blunt as possible.

"When you seem like a bit of a pervert about it, yes."

"Oh?"

"What?"

"I seem to recall _you_ were being more than a _bit_ perverted, that night at the safehouse."

"How would you know, you weren't even there-" I begin to declare, suddenly cutting off when I take a longer look at my fellow Montana's trademark vest. It shouldn't come as a shock, since Jimmy and Fabio dress alike all the time out of weird coincidence, but the former's vest is looking suspiciously like the latter's, as if it's the exact same one, size and all. It certainly is looking rather stretched. But I soon find myself shaking my head as if to stop myself focusing on such trivial matters.

"You really need to stop listening to Chopstick Fag bullshit, you know?"

Jimmy scoffs, as if he can't believe how I'm acting, yet he still looks a little earnest at the mere mention of you-know-who. As he begins to lift up the flesh-filled tray, I can't help darting a somewhat suspicious glance in his direction, only for slight rage to turn to slight ecstasy when he finally lays the food onto the table. I can't help it, it's just how I am, despite all my fellow clan members telling me my habit's a result of botched hypnotism. As I take the first bite, it kinda makes me think what Fabio and Chopstick Fag would have to say about all this; my concerns soon growing out of control when I feel a rather unsavoury taste in my mouth, thanks to Jimmy's twist on my usual flesh.

"Are you trying to poison me, Jimmy?"

As he suddenly breaks out of his serious mood, I fail to see what's so funny. If he still wants to live, he could at least _try_ to stifle that stupid laughter.

"You're not going to get an answer from _him_ anytime soon."

Without any obvious signs or pieces of anatomy (you know, like the _head_?) I can't be certain whether this oddly-familiar stranger's bluffing or not, but I'm not about to take any chances if that manic grin on his face has anything to do with it.

"Ok...if _this_ is Jimmy...then who the cazzo are you?"

"Awwwww, I'm hurt you don't recognise me, Tino," the fake Jimmy says, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. "You'd think you'd remember the guy you practically, ahem, _violated_!"

Amongst the chaos and confusion of it all, those words suddenly make me realise exactly why "Jimmy's" face seems so familiar.

"F...Fabio?"

Suddenly slamming down his fist on the table, he shoots me a rather demented glance; one you'd expect more from the likes of Vito or Paolo. Any other time, he'd have recoiled at the pain throbbing through his arm but he seems determined to keep control of the situation.

"He finally gets it!"

And I think Fabio may have finally _lost_ it. It took almost a year, but now the insanity of trauma has caught up with him.

"Fabio..."

"Buongiorno," he replies, unable to keep himself from sniggering; his head throwing itself back as mine is just shaking in disbelief. However, before I can make heads or tails of the situation Fabio suddenly lunges himself at me; almost winded by his extra weight as he latches on in quite a monkey-esque fashion. I'm convinced he must weigh more than me now, and it's certainly not padding. For some reason, he then licks my cheek two seconds later; my confusion stunning me in such a way that I can't bring myself to wipe off the saliva with the back of my hand.

"But how...when..._why_-"

"Oh, it seems Mr Cannibale's actually going to need some time to think about this" he says, interrupting my babbling with this rather demented smirk on his face. He's still got his arms wrapped around me; whilst at any other time I'd be ecstatic at Fabio actually wanting to have contact with me, at this point I'm nothing but willing to just throw him off. However, Fabio's been a right clever bastardo by physically posing as Jimmy- he's one of just two clan mates who are stronger than me, along with Griezzo.

I'm half expecting him to slip his hand down my trousers and dish out an exact "eye-for-an-eye" revenge but it seems he's got his fingers above the belt. That's just typical of Fabio- even in a manically crazed state, he can't bring himself to get down and dirty.

However, he's soon handling me, his hand slowly creeping up my back as I feel his skin on mine. Even though I can't throw him off, I could easily barge us both into the furniture and cause him quite a bit of damage but my feelings are still too strong. In spite of the situation, I can't bring myself to hurt him on purpose, especially if he's still hurt by that night. Behind the crazed insanity, it's still Fabio.

His weight finally becoming too much, I feel myself fall to the floor quite heavily but I barely have any time to try and recover- Fabio's got himself on top of me as he forces my head to the ground and manages to rip my shirt off in one messy swipe, throwing it away as if it was yesterday's merda. Feeling a sharp, short nick in my back, I suddenly feel a slow trickling down the now-tender flesh; one sniff of my scarlet excretion and I'm quick to cover my nose. I know exactly what his game is at that moment. He's trying to psyche me out by turning me on, well, _myself_. Then I'll be too distracted to ward off whatever he's got coming next.

"Sangue ... delizioso," Fabio simply says, sounding deliberate as I feel him run his finger through the scarlet trickle; suddenly sticking it in his mouth, he's looking far too pleased with himself for it to be sane. Before I have time to recover from the shock, he suddenly rips a little flesh off my own body as mental pain becomes almost unbearable physical pain.

Though I start to wonder whether Fabio has a little compassion left in him when I feel the gaping wound in my back, but no more damage being caused. Daring to take the tiniest sniff, any trace of blood seems to have been covered by the strong stench of red wine, which I then feel suddenly stinging the tender wound like no tomorrow; if skin could talk, then mine would have been screaming for mercy as Fabio continues to pour the liquid claret into the gaping flesh. Then pouring the rest of the wine into a fresh glass, he helps himself as the manic grin still remains on his face; taking the first few sips as delicately as possible, he then downs the rest of the glass in one fell tilt and crushing the glass in his hand, causing a dozen or so pieces to slice into his skin and allowing the blood to act as a scarlet glue. And I just know he'd want to crush me too just as easily if he ever got the chance.

"Sangue and vino...no better combination."

"You quite finished yet?" I say, one eyebrow raised as I'm still managing to seem fearless, despite the madness of the situation.

Though it seems obvious that Fabio isn't finished yet, or satisfied in the slightest. He's flashing me a very knowing, demonic grin as I feel his uncut hand now slowly sliding into my trousers and down my thigh, making quite the point as he begins to tightly grab my area. Inside my mind I'm begging him to stop and think about what he's doing, yet my face makes the mistake of putting on this stupid little smirk. One chuckle later and Fabio, in a sudden spurt of fury, slams my head onto the floor, almost smashing my shades; had they actually broken, I would have to have been really lucky not to have the shards pierce my face. I think that's what Fabio was aiming for, and seeing me "escape" his little plan is making him more demented.

"Why do you not resist?" He says, looking at me as if he's staring into my soul. But before I can answer, he's flown into this frenzied rage, with a snarling that sounds too much like he wants to burst into tears of defeat here and now.

"You're ruining things as always! Upsetting me as always! Why is it always so fun for you to see me get upset? Why must you treat my sanity and mindset like something you _have_ to rape!"

Grabbing my area again, he begins doing something that I recognise straight away, except this time _I'm_ on the receiving end. In a clichéd way, it's taken a taste of my own medicine to understand how Fabio must have felt, but now it's actually beginning to freak me out. And the faster he gets, the less likely it's becoming that he's going to stop the ride anytime soon.

"You can stop fondling me now," I say, but the words stick in my throat and can't get out, as if they're too ashamed of the violation. I could understand if he'd done me in the mouth, but he's kept it in his trousers; and knowing Fabio, not even this demented state of his will bring it out, for both our sakes.

But I'm going to wake up. Any minute now, I'm going to wake up and everything will be...oh, just who am I trying to kid? Not even my own mentality is going to buy that stronzate. This is all too real, it's happening here and now and no amount of hoping and praying is going to change that.

But the sheer, desperate cheek of obvious apologising might.

"Look, if this is about what I think it is, and I'm 99% certain it is, I'm sorry, ok? But think of it this way, had I not done what I did, you'd never be with Chopstick Fag! You even said it yourself!"

His only response is demented laughter, as if he was clearly expecting my pathetic little plea.

"There would have been a way for us to have that spark sooner or later. You just provided the accelerating, unnecessary mindrape."

"You can't just blame me for everything, you know."

"Oh, _everyone_ blames you for everything! You're just too stupid of a fat buta to realise it!"

The minute he finishes his sentence he immediately gets himself off me, using both his hands to cover his mouth. No matter how disturbed he tries to make me now, he realises he's blown it; his eyes still manic but now flooded with fear. No matter how much he tries to apologise, he dared to hit that berserk button. He's gazing up, this crazed yet apologetic look in his eyes as if he's desperately pleading for me not to _go there_, but he's looking too much like Jimmy for me to care about the past.

"Did you just call me fat?"

I know exactly what he called me but the words jump out like an automatic response. I'd often joked about consumption being the next stage after violation in regards to that incident but now I guess I'm going to have to do it for real, despite all the promises I made to Don about not turning on my own. When someone drops the F-bomb, all promises just get thrown out of the window until I rid myself of the bastardo who dared to make his opinions known.

"I...am going to fuck you up even _worse_ than that time at the safehouse," I find myself saying, not pulling back any threats. However, I'm suddenly distracted by what sounds like footsteps coming down the basement stairs. That can't be right. The only person who comes down here voluntarily is Griezzo, and he's out with his little ocean girlfriend, Felicity or something. If I'm honest, I'm not sure whether this supposed stranger is good news or bad news; depending on who, _if_ it's an actual person, is lurking, it could spell me actually being on the right side of Lady Luck for once, or I'll get told off for fighting. _Again_.

Before I know it, I've been tackled to the ground by a very hard head. It seems Fabio wasn't frightened enough to not take advantage of the situation, but his eyes are still filled with fear as he cautiously plans his next move in his head. However, he's soon taken by surprise as the sharp glint of metal suddenly swipes through his airspace; not even touching him but dangerously close, Fabio's still quick to jump out of the way. However, he's not used to his newly acquired weight and ends up losing his balance upon landing, and before he knows it his head's smashed itself against the concrete floor. I was hoping for a more dramatic rescue but if it means Fabio's out of action, I'm not about to complain- in the mixture of fear, confusion and insanity, I'm barely able to _breathe_, let alone complain.

Out of the blue, Chopstick Fag's suddenly welding his katana, and he isn't pointing it in _my_ face for once.

"Oh for fakku sake!" He yells, sounding really pissed off. However, his frustration isn't directed at me, but at _Fabio_. However, the impact of the fall was enough to knock him unconscious so any nags or lectures aren't about to be noticed anytime soon. However, what _is_ noticed is the rather blunt stare that Chopstick Fag is soon giving me. He may still be insulting me but at least _he's_ not stupid enough to drop the F-bomb.

"Still not as big as you, Buta. "

"He...he's just sliced my back, potentially had his revenge by dick-fondling me and tried to trigger the whole "frenzied" state on myself...and you're still taking _his_ side," I retort, in just as blunt a matter as I begin to slip my jacket back on. I can feel the scarlet blood sticking the leather to my recently wounded skin but I manage to shake off the odd sensation. Poor Chopstick Fag...he's looking at the evidence of the madness that ensued earlier, utterly confused but still definitely looking like the most normal person in the basement right now. Sighing, he picks up my shirt and wonders whether it's even worth offering the tattered remains back to me.

"He seemed certain enough, but I didn't think he'd actually go ahead with it."

"Cosa?"

"He was babbling about this whole mess in his sleep," he explains, sounding a little sheepish as he's trying to avoid eye contact with me. "This is actually kinda my fault. I didn't take it seriously because, well, this is _Fabs_. You don't expect the likes of him to carry out mad revenge."

"Maybe that's why he tried to do it. Because he knew we wouldn't think something like this would happen."

"Well hopefully he's got whatever drove him to this out of his system."

Realising he still has hold of my shirt, he gently lets it fall out of his grasp. With neither of us exactly sure what to say at that moment, I manage to bring myself to break the silence just a couple of moments later.

"Answer me one thing, Chopstick Fag. You had every chance to just step away from the basement and yet you decided to butt in. So just why did you stop him from killing me?"

"I...I guess you'd have..." He responds, trailing off as he wonders whether I actually would have done the same for him against the likes of Miho. I can't help sniggering at his rather ponderous expression, suddenly having to play dumb when he shoots me a rather annoyed glance.

"Stop it, Buta."

"The answer's yes, by the way."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"It was obvious what you were going to say," I continue, smirking a little as I go to pick up Fabio, and I'm hugely surprised that Chopstick Fag hasn't demanded I get my dirty paws off him. "I truly would have, if it was against that crazy, demented bitch."

Nodding in gratitude, he's not sure where to direct his gaze, especially when he approaches the dead flesh that was presented to me as Jimmy. I can't help tensing up as he rips off a tiny slither of flesh and allows it to slide down his throat; if that Chopstick Fag ends up taking a liking to it, then what the cazzo am I supposed to eat? I can't eat Fried Chicken all my life and I am _not_ carrying on my habits if I have to share them with _him_.

Luckily, he shudders and immediately brings it back up, almost coughing up blood in the process; wiping the saliva from his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression looks like he's been severely internally violated.

Great...since that was flesh prepared for me, does that technically count as stomach rape?

"Ugh! Jimmy or not, that guy tastes terrible. You seriously must have something wrong with you, Buta, if you can keep the likes of _that_ down."

"Wait...that's _not_ Jimmy?"

"Not fat enough."

Sighing, I manage to hold my tongue and just let the subject fall quiet by itself. Realising that Fabio's newly increased weight is beginning to take a toll on me, I decide it's best to get on with things as I start to make my way up the basement stairs. But of course, things are never that simple.

"Don't be disappearing anywhere, Tino, I need to talk to you."

I can't remember the last time Chopstick Fag ever called me by my actual name. Of course I'm strangely touched, but I'm not about to let _him_ know that so I put this sarcastic, slightly irritated persona.

"Cosa?"

"Now listen carefully, and this is serious...it's unlikely we'll ever be the best of friends, but I think this whole manic rivalry may have been a big reason for this. Because I know Fabs sees any enemy of mine as an enemy of his, but it's taken so long because he still likes you as friend material, and also he was probably afraid that lashing out in public would send him to the ice again. Anyway, I'm not asking for my sake, or your sake, but for Fabs...can we at least call it a truce?"

I know he's certainly not doing it out of weakness, because I've seen him almost kill guys with just one strike where it would have taken me at least a few punches. I don't even know where to start word-wise, but Chopst- sorry, _Aniki's_ already flashed this appreciative smile at me as if I've sealed the deal with my stance alone. He probably took the fact I didn't snarl back with some sarcastic retort as a "yes." Plus it's physically impossible for us to shake on it at that moment without me almost dropping Fabio.

Aniki then opens his mouth once more, but suddenly decides against whatever he was going to say. Knowing him, it was probably going to be why I hate his nation so much. _Again_. But I wouldn't be able to answer him even if I wanted to; in all honesty, the hatred's been there for so long that I've forgotten what started it in the first place.

"Come on," He says, beginning to make his way up the basement stairs. "I think we'd better try and get Fabs to bed. Just don't be surprised if he starts hyperventilating and almost wetting himself when he suddenly wakes up and realises _you're_ carrying him."

"So I'll end up smelling of blood, sweat, tears, wine _and_ yellow gold? Just bella..."

"How can you even _joke_ about that?" He retorts, flashing me this somewhat frightened glance, this look in his eyes that's worried I'll suddenly be set off by the lingering smell of the staling blood; if non-fresh manages to trigger a reaction, then we'll all be in trouble. I can feel the same, worried expression slowly etch itself onto _my_ face now.

However, the scared frown soon turns into an awkward smile when I notice Aniki jump the couple of steps between us to rejoin me, nudging me slightly as he secures his amichetto onto my back. Even after the madness he can't help but ruffle Fabio's hair before ruffling mine, if only for a split second, as he wears a rather devious expression. Seems he's already sticking to the plan- just this morning, he would have rather performed sepukku than risk actually touching me. And maybe I'm sticking to the plan already too- for once, I don't feel the need to make some stupid, xenophobic comment.

And who knows? We could actually make this truce work...if only for Fabio's sake.


End file.
